


This Year

by erriikaa



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Fluff, Flustered Lance (Voltron), Idiots in Love, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, M/M, Mutual Pining, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, Oblivious Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), someone please help him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:22:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28424667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erriikaa/pseuds/erriikaa
Summary: This is it. This is the year Lance is finally going to do it. He's going to kiss Keith. Going to get that New Year's Kiss™ if it kills him goddammit. He has a plan. He's gone over it in his head a million times. Rehearsed it with Hunk a million times more. And it'sgoingto work. Because if it doesn't...No. It's going to. Ithasto.
Relationships: Keith & Lance (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 97





	This Year

**Author's Note:**

> Hi !! This is a piece I wrote last year and I just realized I only posted it on instagram and nowhere else, so here it is again, revamped and rewritten ~~a little~~ a lot. Enjoy and happy New Year!

“Breathe, Lance. Just breathe.”

He sucks in a large gulp of air, eyes falling shut and holding it for a moment before releasing it all with a shaky exhale. He rolls his neck and shoulders, shaking his arms and wrists as he bounces softly on his heels. He shakes out a leg. Then the other. And then finally, takes one last deep breath as his eyes snap open, meeting his own blue-eyed gaze staring back at him. 

“You’ve got this, Lance.” His voice speaks confidence, but his stomach argues otherwise. He clenches his fists against the sink, knuckles turning white from the grip. 

“There’s nothing to worry about. It’s fine. You’re chill. Cool as ice.” He shoots himself finger guns in the mirror, topping off his facade with a wink. “Keith is _totally_ going to fall for you. They don’t call you Loverboy for nothing. Yup. Easy peasy.” 

He stares down his reflection for a few moments, scrutinizing his appearance ruthlessly until a mere few moments turn into a handful of minutes. Despite the swarm of butterflies protesting inside his stomach, he abruptly leans away from the sink’s counter, drumming his hands on his thighs. “Okay.” He lets out a loud breath and gives himself a sharp nod. “Okay, okay. Let’s do this.” He turns on his heel and heads to the bathroom door. He hesitates at the handle for only a moment, throwing one last fleeting glance at his reflection before pushing himself onward.

The wave of noise that hits him is instant. Friends and family chat and laugh openly all around him. The bass of the music thumps through his veins. Champagne glasses clink together and chips crunch loudly in the kitchen. 

On a typical night he’d welcome these sounds with open ears and an open heart. This is his element. Life-of-the-party Lance McClain. He _thrives_ in this scene. 

But this is not a typical night. Tonight is different. Tonight the stakes are high. Tonight he’s on a _mission._

He feels strangely suffocated in the mass of people. The comfort of his friends around him isn’t enough to settle the rapid beating of his heart. The warmth of the alcohol coursing through his veins doesn’t do much to chase away the chills that creep up his spine. 

The rational part of his brain reminds him it’s just his nerves acting up, but somehow that only makes it worse. He feels trapped, like he’s carrying the weight of the sky on his shoulders and he doesn’t know if that burden is going to be lifted from his grasp or come crashing down on top of him. 

But sink or swim, he has to try. 

He knows it’ll only be worse if he doesn’t.

He stumbles into the crowded living room, vaguely hearing something akin to his name ring out amidst the clamor of the party, but he ignores it. A familiar hand waves somewhere in his peripheral vision accompanied by a body picking its way towards him, but he pointedly turns the other way, making a beeline for the kitchen.

No distractions. He’s on a mission and he cannot get wrapped up into another conversation right now. Not with the clock reading less than 10 minutes to midnight. 

No, he needs to _focus._ Focus, focus, _focus,_ but _why_ is that so goddamn hard right now? He’s only had, like, two drinks... Maybe three. Four? Whatever. He _needs_ them tonight. Needs them like a dying man in the desert needs water. And right now? He could certainly use another. 

He’s elbowing his way towards the fridge when a large hand lands heavily on his shoulder. He starts and spins around, relaxing only a fraction when he’s met with Hunk’s blinding smile. 

“Dude! Where’ve you been? There’s only, like, _eight minutes_ left until the New Year, and everyone is getting ready for the countdown. I’ve been looking all over for you. Here.” Hunk promptly shoves a champagne glass into Lance’s hand. He absentmindedly takes the object, blinking dumbly at it until it sinks in that it’s exactly what he’d been looking for. 

Blessed Hunk. He’s too good for this world. 

The glass is cold against Lance’s fingers and he finds his senses sharpening in response. Eight minutes. _Eight minutes._ He needs to go. Needs to find Keith _right now._ Before it’s too late. Before the clock strikes midnight and he misses his chance. He needs to—

“Laaaance.” Hunk shakes his shoulders roughly and Lance snaps his gaze back to Hunk’s. “Where is your party hat? And your noise-maker thingy.” He toots his party horn in Lance’s face for emphasis, the little paper coil unrolling and hitting his nose. “You gotta hurry up and get them, man! Time is ticking!”

Lance swats away Hunk’s arm as he toots his horn once again. He knows the big guy means well, but he’s right. Time is ticking. And Lance has more important things on his mind right now. Things in the shape of a dark, messy mullet and beautiful midnight eyes that he _really needs to find._

Besides, he didn’t just spend 20 minutes in the bathroom restyling his hair just for it to get ruined by a dumb party hat. He has at least a _little_ bit of self-decency. 

“Sorry, buddy, I’ll get them in a minute.” He shifts himself around Hunk’s mass, eyes already scanning the crowd. “I just, uh, have to go do something first.” He pats Hunk’s arm lightly, shooting him an empty smile in apology, and disappears into the living room.

He makes it approximately five steps into the room before a paper hat is unceremoniously shoved onto his head, elastic string snapping taut against his chin. A frown immediately sours on his face as he stops in his tracks. 

He loves Hunk. He really does. But this really is _not_ the time for his hovering. 

With a frustrated huff, he whips around, arms crossed and eyes sharp. “Hunk, I just told you, I need to—”

The words die on his tongue as his gaze meets a pair of gorgeous midnight eyes that certainly don’t belong to Hunk. 

Keith’s smile slowly spreads across his lips, and Lance’s heart damn near stutters in his chest. His arms are crossed casually over his chest, champagne flute leaning against his elbow and mirroring Lance’s stance. He’s got his own party hat plopped crookedly in his messy mop of hair. It simply has no business being that cute. Positively absurd. 

Lance is sure he’s gawking, but he can’t bring himself to care. 

Keith tilts his head, lips quirking into a teasing smirk. “Glad you could finally join the party. You’re officially the last one to get a hat, which unfortunately for you means you’re stuck with the lame gray one.” 

Lance pouts, eyeing his hat like it personally offended him.

Keith’s smile only widens as he raises an accusatory brow. “What’s going on with you tonight? Trying to steal my vibe, Mr. Grumpy Pants?” He bumps Lance’s side with his hip, sending him stumbling lightly with the motion. 

But Lance isn’t deterred in the slightest, lips curling at the corners. “Like _hell,_ Mullet. Who would want to steal your grungy, emo style?” A laugh escapes his lips as he reaches out, poking Keith’s forehead. 

“I’m not emo.” His lips tell of unamusement, but his eyes say otherwise. “You’re just jealous you can’t pull off my style.”

Lance scoffs. “Yeah, okay. Keep dreaming, buddy. With this body?” Uncrossing his arms, he gestures to himself with his free hand, eyebrows wiggling for emphasis. “I can pull off _any_ style I want, thank you very much. But I’d have to be blind, stupid, and hate myself to ever want _your_ nasty style.”

“Ah, is that all?” He shakes his head slowly, lips tugging at the corners despite his obvious struggle to keep them down. His mouth opens, probably with some unwelcome retort on his tongue, but it’s drowned out by a loud whistle followed by Pidge’s voice. 

“Alright, listen up, ya filthy animals! There’s only three minutes left until the New Year so every one of your asses better be in here by the TV in the next ten seconds, or I will personally shove my foot so far up your ass your first meal of the year will be my toes.”

Lance laughs. “She certainly has a way with words, doesn’t she?”

Keith snorts, adorable smile finally breaking free. “She always does. But as tempting as her threat sounds, I think we’d better—”

Lance doesn’t let him finish, grabbing Keith’s hand without another word. He’s already on the move, unceremoniously dragging a startled Keith over to the far corner of the room, barreling through their friends and ignoring the protests as they go. There’s a small pocket of space in the back corner. His eyes narrow as he zeroes in on it. 

_Perfect._

He pulls them to a stop right by the wall. They can easily see the backdrop of Times Square displayed on the TV screen from where they stand, along with the large numbers that read 02:13 quickly counting down with each passing second. He huddles them up against the edge of the room, out of the thick of the crowd but close enough to still be present. A little pocket of space carved out just for them. Part of the group, yet alone at the same time. 

The atmosphere in the room is electric as everyone watches the last minute of the year tick away. Lance leans in close to Keith, idly sipping his champagne and making mindless commentary as the minutes turn to seconds. An anticipated hush falls over the room as everyone waits with bated breath for the numbers to reach 00:00.

His heart hammers in his chest with each tick of the clock. Excitement and anticipation boils in his blood for entirely his own reasons. 

Thirty seconds. 

The champagne flute shakes ever so slightly in his grasp. 

Twenty seconds. 

Sweat pools at the back of his neck as his breaths become quicker and shorter. 

Fifteen seconds. 

His hands twitch, his heart races, and every one of his flight responses are kicked into high gear.

Then everyone is chanting together. 

_“Ten, nine, eight—”_

Lance steals a glance at Keith, who’s intently watching the ball drop on the TV screen. He’s counting down with the rest, an excited grin on his face that’s far too cute for Lance’s poor heart to handle. 

_“—five, four, three—”_

His heart pounds in his chest as he turns to face Keith, skin burning with anticipation. He longs to reach out. To grab him and kiss him now before he loses courage. But he steadies himself. Reels himself in for just a few more seconds until the moment is ripe and absolutely _perfect._

Keith turns to face him, grin wide and positively _blinding._ He feels his own smile curl just as wide in response. 

_“—two, one. Happy New Year!”_

The chorus of shouts rings throughout the air, but Lance’s voice is merely a gentle whisper. His eyes are locked onto Keith’s, and Keith’s onto his. He holds his breath as he reaches out, raising his hand to meet Keith’s cheek and—

Keith is gone, abruptly thrown to the side and lifted off the ground as Shiro barrels into him from behind and spins him around in the air. Lance flinches his hand back as Keith’s body goes spinning around, limbs flying everywhere. Keith barks a startled laugh at the attack, barely having time to register what’s happening before his drink is spilling all over himself and Shiro. 

“Happy New Year, ya little shit—ah, Keith, _no!_ You’re getting champagne all over me. Stop! _Stop!”_ Shiro hastily puts him down and wipes a hand at the liquid splashed all over his face. Keith quickly regains his bearings on the ground, takes one look at Shiro’s disheveled state, and immediately throws his head back, eyes crinkled shut and shaking with laughter. 

Lance remains frozen where he stands, unable to do anything but just... watch. 

Keith looks so happy. Completely at peace and utterly unburdened by a single care in the world. His smile is bright, blinding, and fucking _beautiful._ It takes Lance’s breath away. 

And it’s at that moment, when the ball in Times Square finishes sinking along with the sinking of Lance’s heart, that he realizes he can’t do it. 

He can’t kiss Keith tonight. 

Not now when he looks so perfectly happy in this moment just the way it is. Not with the way he’s laughing with Shiro, teasing and shoving his brother playfully. Not when he sports a smile far more genuine than he’s ever seen it— genuine and unbidden and positively _radiant._

Lance can’t steal that away from him. Not for his own selfish reasons. Not for anything. 

Keith deserves all the happiness in the world, and Lance sure as hell isn’t going to be the one to ruin this night for him. He can wait. He’s done it for this long. He can wait some more. Anything to keep that beautiful smile on Keith’s face. 

His chest feels hollow, but Keith’s laughter fills it up slowly with each passing second. 

_It’s okay,_ he tells himself. He’ll find his chance again. _Next time,_ he promises with a soft, resigned smile. 

_Next time._

  


* * *

  


“Keith? You still here buddy?”

Lance aimlessly swats his hand somewhere to his left. He misses the first few tries, hitting nothing but the soft cushions of the couch until his fingertips graze soft cotton and muscle underneath. 

Ah. There he is.

Lance slaps his hand more firmly at what he presumes is Keith’s leg, though he doesn’t lift his head to check. He’s slouched against the arm of the couch, head tilted back and gaze roaming around the tiled ceiling. The now empty champagne bottle that he claimed for himself hangs limply in his hand, dangling off the edge of the couch. His hand is cramping from the angle he’s holding it at— and _yeah,_ he should just let it drop to the floor, but what can he say? He’s grown attached to it. 

This bottle was there for him in a time of _need._ Helped him through his darkest hour. Carried him through the remainder of a party tainted by heartache and suffering. It was his only light in the dark. His only support. His knight in shining armor—

Okay. 

_Maybe_ he’s being a little dramatic. 

And a hell of a lot pathetic. 

But he can’t help it, okay? He’s been hyping himself up about this New Year’s Kiss™ for _weeks._ Sure, he was nervous about it and wasn’t even sure it would _work._ But more than that, he was _excited._ He was riding a high, feeding off the thrill at the thought of _kissing Keith._

He was _so close._

But he blew his chance. And now here he sits, nearly 3 a.m. on New Year’s Day, wallowing in self-pity without his New Year’s kiss. 

He’s okay though. He’s totally and completely _fine._ The alcohol is making its way nicely through his system, slowly simmering the pain in his heart to merely a dull ache and filling his blood with a soothing warmth. 

And the room is only spinning a _little_ bit. 

It’s not until Keith grumbles something incoherent that Lance realizes he’s still swatting at Keith’s leg. He stops and lets his arm flop lazily across Keith’s waist. He shifts his head, lolling it against the back of the couch to glance at him. 

He’s sprawled out next to Lance, looking just about as far gone as Lance feels. His eyes are vacant and glazed, and there’s a soft pink flush in his cheeks. His hair is a dark mess on his head, cascading haphazardly down his neck and face. There’s a dopey smile spread across his lips, and it really has no business being this cute.

Lance picks up his arm and flicks a lazy hand at his hair. “Look who’s the one stealing _my_ vibe now, Mullet.” 

Keith shifts his gaze. “Hmm?”

He lets his hand fall beside Keith’s head, curling his fingers into his hair. Hand moving of its own accord, he idly brushes through the soft locks, scratching at Keith’s scalp mindlessly. Keith releases a content breath, sinking into the touch as his eyes flutter shut. 

“I _mean,”_ he drawls as he flicks Keith’s ear playfully. “You’re usually one of the first people to leave a party. Look at you now, Mr. Suddenly-Likes-Parties.”

Keith snorts. “I never said anything about liking parties.”

“You’re still here though.”

“Yeah, but the party’s over now.”

“Which is the _exact_ anomaly I’m confused about. You never last the entire night at a party, much less are the _last person to leave._ So what’s so special about tonight? Is this some kind of New Year’s Resolution thing you’ve got going on? Are you trying to reform yourself this year to not be such a stick in the mud?” 

Keith laughs, a soft little thing under his breath. “No, you _ass.”_ He shoves Lance’s leg with his foot. It’s an awkward angle from where he’s lounged on the couch, and he certainly struggles, but it gets the intent across just the same. “Maybe I just had fun tonight. Is that so hard to believe?” 

Lance gasps, sitting up abruptly and ignoring the way the room spins a little more fiercely. He leans back, putting a dramatic hand to his chest, staring wide-eyed at Keith. “Oh. My. _God._ Did Keith McStoic Kogane just admit he actually had _fun_? At _my_ party?”

Keith pouts and shoves Lance again with his foot, harder this time. It sends Lance toppling back into his slouched position against the couch, laughing as he falls.

“Shut up,” Keith grumbles. 

“Okay, okay,” he says through the soft remnants of his laughter. “ _But_ that doesn’t explain why you’re still here _now.”_

He’s… honestly not sure why he prods. It’s not like he hadn’t hoped for this outcome. Him and Keith, just the two of them spending the night together after the party. 

So, _technically,_ Lance got just what he wanted. 

Of course, he’d imagined they’d spend the night engaging in _very_ different activities— preferably with far more hands and far fewer clothes involved— but still. It’s the little victories. He’ll take what he can get. 

Still though... he’s curious. If his New Year’s kiss plan failed so miserably earlier, then... Why _is_ Keith still here?

Keith shifts next to him on the couch, abruptly sitting up and bracing himself to stand. His eyes are on the floor as he speaks with rushed words. “Oh, um— right yeah, I should probably get going. Everyone else left already and I shouldn’t overstay my welcome—”

“Wait, what? No, that’s not what I was implying!” He sits up, grabbing Keith’s wrist and tugging him back to the couch, gentle but insistent. “You don’t have to leave just because everyone else did. You can even stay the night if you need— or _want_ to.”

Keith smiles, a soft little thing that barely curls his lips, but Lance notices it all the same. He gently pulls his wrist out of Lance’s grip. “Thanks, man. But I really should head home. It’s late and I better get back to check on Kosmo.”

Lance’s face falls for a moment, but he quickly schools it back into a calm smile. He nods and reluctantly stands to follow Keith to the door. “Aww, I miss Kosmo. How’s my perfect baby boy doing?”

Keith laughs as he grabs his jacket and shrugs it on. “Oh my god, stop calling him your baby boy. He’s like, twice your size.”

“Size is just a number, _Keith._ Kosmo is— and always will be— my precious baby who deserves all the belly rubs and treats in the world.”

Keith rolls his eyes, leveling him with an unamused look. “You’re going to spoil my dog.”

Lance smiles, wide and bright. “That’s the plan. Kosmo is a king among dogs and he _deserves_ my spoiling.” 

Keith rolls his eyes more fiercely this time, but he’s chuckling under his breath just the same. He ducks his head behind a curtain of hair as he turns to face the door. Taking his time to grab the handle, he slowly tugs the door open, taking half a step outside before turning back to face Lance. There’s the faintest hint of a smile in his expression. One that simply lifts his cheeks and brightens his eyes more than it spreads his lips. 

Lance leans against the door frame, crossing his arms over his chest and worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. “Are you— are you sure you have to go so soon?” He hates how small his voice sounds. 

Keith shifts his weight as he reaches out with hesitant fingers and cups Lance’s cheek with his palm. “I don’t really _want_ to go, but…” He lets out a soft sigh, pressing his thumb gently into Lance’s bottom lip until he releases it from his teeth. “If I stay any longer…” His voice softens, breathless and uncertain. His eyes trail the motion of his thumb, mindlessly entranced as it swipes back-and-forth across his lip. “I don’t think I’ll ever leave.” 

Lance’s breath hitches and Keith pulls his hand away, but Lance catches it before it can go far. He places it firmly back against his cheek, covering it with his own and leaning into the touch. His lips part of their own accord as he leans closer, craving Keith’s warmth. 

“Then don’t. Just… _stay_.” His voice is barely a whisper between them, but he knows Keith can hear it loud and clear. 

Keith’s eyebrows pinch as his lips press into a tight line. He looks conflicted, like he’s holding himself back. Trying to restrain himself as he fights an internal battle. 

It’s a funny expression to find on Keith. Not one Lance sees often. Keith is usually all authority and confidence. He’s impulsive and reckless, yet powerful and sure of himself. He doesn’t often second-guess his actions. He’s more of a _jump-in-head-first-and-deal-with-the-consequences- later_ kind of guy. 

But this. Uncertainty and doubt. This is new.

Lance decides he doesn’t like this look on Keith. 

He doesn’t know what compels him to do it. Maybe it’s the pitiful look on Keith’s face, all vulnerable and conflicted. Maybe it’s the alcohol that hazes his brain and makes his rational thought take a backseat to his body. 

Or maybe it’s just that he’s simply had enough. He can’t stand it anymore. Can’t stand to look at Keith, in all his breathtaking beauty, and _not_ kiss those stupidly gorgeous lips. 

Before his brain can catch up with his body, he surges forward, closing the gap and capturing Keith’s lips with his own. 

The kiss is gentle. Chaste. Hesitant so that either one of them could stop it. Back out before it goes any further. 

A beat passes. Lance doesn’t pull away. Neither does Keith. And that’s all the assurance Lance needs to dive in more firmly, capturing Keith’s lips with his own like Keith is air and Lance is drowning at sea. 

Keith’s lips are dry and chapped against his, but he doesn’t care. He can taste the faint bite of cheap champagne on his breath, but he doesn’t care. The kiss is sloppy and uncoordinated in their haste, but _he doesn’t care._

Because he’s _kissing Keith._ And Keith is kissing _him._

Keith grabs Lance’s hips, pulling them flush against each other, and Lance _melts._ He sighs into Keith’s mouth, eyes fluttering shut and lips moving with a drive and hunger that he’s been subsiding _all night._

A smile fights at the corners of his lips, and he pulls away for a moment— barely an inch, just enough to collect himself. Lips still grazing Keith’s, his smile breaks free, unbidden and positively _giddy._ He leans forward, resting their foreheads together and catches sight of Keith’s smile, small and bashful and utterly _adorable._

“What’d you do that for?” Keith whispers between them. 

Lance leans in, stealing another peck at Keith’s lips, to which Keith meets him willingly. “I couldn’t let New Year’s pass without kissing you at least once. I just— I wanted to start off the new year right.”

Keith’s lips curl into a smile against his, and he shudders as the warmth of Keith’s breath fans out across his lips. 

“Well, it seems to me like this year’s off to a pretty good start.”

Lance lets out a breath of laughter as his eyes rake shamelessly across Keith’s features, soaking up every detail. Those gorgeous purple irises that stare back at him. Beautiful porcelain skin complimented nicely by a faint pink flush. Tousled hair that frames the sharp angles of his face. Plump red lips parted and panting and _oh, so_ inviting. 

Lance dives back in, unable to restrain himself. He captures Keith’s lips again. And again. And _again..._

The thought comes unbidden, flickering across the back of his mind as he loses himself in Keith’s lips.

_Yeah. This year’s gonna be a good one._


End file.
